There’s a bunch of mad old guys in the neighbourhood who come out and feed the pigeons, which then crap all over benches, bicycles and toddlers. One of the locals has discovered how to make them stop. He puts a handful of salt in his pocket, lies in wait till he sees them emptying their bags of mouldy bread, and then goes and sprinkles salt over their meal. “What’s that you’re feeding them?” they ask with a conspiratorial smile. “Rat poison,” he says.
(This is a variant on the gag allegedly perpetrated by the old woman round the corner who is kept awake at night by a drunks and thieves on the street below. Her trick is to empty buckets of water over the throng whilst shouting, “BLEEEAACCCHHH!!!”)
A friend out walking in the Aragonese pre-Pyrenees the other day came across an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere that was obviously in the final stages of conversion to a country grillhouse. Inside she discovered a man and a woman, surrounded by empty bottles of beer, paralytically drunk. The man was from Rumania, …
- Spring is here (again)
I have been up the coast a couple of times this week (off again tomorrow) and I don’t think I’ve ever seen as many spring flowers. Their profusion is partly a consequence of heavy rainfall, and partly of the fires last summer that burnt away heavy shrubbery and young pine woods, clearing the ground. However, wildfires aren’t just vital to biological rejuvenation. Look at the fresh growth that has appeared where, until the fires, there was a car backseat:
- Fried pigeon egg for breakfast
This is a rather convenient arrangement – I ‘ate facking pigeons.
- El mullet
(Mollet is a small town near here best known for its police school and its Islamic fundamentalists. None of them are big mulletmen, despite …